


Exegesis

by OrangeBlossoms



Series: FE Rarepair Week Summer 2017 [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Shadow Dragon references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 12:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: Cordelia attempts to replicate the past. Emmeryn attempts to understand it.





	Exegesis

**Author's Note:**

> Includes spoilers for paralogue 20, but… I changed some things (a bit of a fix-it for what they did to Emmeryn's character), so canon-divergent, I suppose (are all the dlc paralogues not canon anyway?).
> 
> Is a late submission for Day: 5 Wistful for Rarepair Week Summer 2017.

She remembered the stories she would read of the Hero King and his Pegasus Knight Queen. Securing the island of Talys. The many battles after. She remembered when she realized the stories were True and she heard the call to be the knight to aid her prince. She remembered when that Truth became one of many, each adaptation different than the last. Secretly she kept the apocryphal stories that dwelled on soft kisses in castle corridors and whispered promises before battle closest to her heart even as she feigned disdain as Sumia spent the free hours outside of training sighing with dewy-eyed affection over tawdry tales of heroes and damsels.

Striving for an unattainable perfection was the daily sacrifice she could offer on the altar of her devotion. It wasn't until she had stumbled upon yet another version of the scripture where not a Princess, but a simple Pegasus Knight yearned alone that she began to question, the mirror revealing unflattering truths, the words like tarnished silver. Years later when she thought of it again, finally able to embrace that story without recoiling, something bittersweet settled in the hollow place self-loathing had burrowed in her chest.

_._

_I was given this life by my sisters... It is not mine to throw away…_

She fled once again. 

_Again._

Able to do nothing. The realization left her throat as raw as salted earth while her eyes burned. Sumia had darted in front of a blow in order to aid in her retreat. Her sweet voice was suddenly strained as she called for her to go, words lost to the sounds of battle, but sentiment ringing clear even in her injured haze.

Her mount limped along as she flew over friendly mages on the ground lashing out at knights armed with javelins. Each point of assistance seared itself into her memory as yet another failure to meditate over in the solitary early hours.

_._

There are stones for the missing ones and she should be among them twice over. The ones they've lost… the ones whose bodies were left exposed on charnel ground as they all fled the battle on the sands. The only thing she is good for now is as a training captain who barks orders from the safety of the practice yards, giving lessons while others do the work. She is a hound who is too injured to join the hunt, yet too loyal to be put down. 

Her other task, this one her own choice as opposed to something she was coaxed into doing, is to clean the site in reminder of who should be there in her stead. Even the ones who would misplace her lance or complain loudly within earshot of her overeager work ethic are missed just as fiercely. 

She brings flowers. At times she plants them in the earth even in winter despite knowing they will have withered in the frost by the time she next returns. This sickness is self-inflicted and she picks at it. Invisible gaping wounds never left to properly heal feel better to her somehow as she walks around throughout her day, the world a different place than when she used to read her stories. Seeking comfort from them now is like grasping at mist. She has lost all faith in their teachings. 

_._

There was once a princess not meant for the throne. She was wise beyond her years and beloved by her people. A healer at heart, she sent her lord brother away with a promise meant to soothe, silently preparing for the worst. The princess survived her capture to later rejoin her brother and fight by his side. The stories rarely linger past her marriage. She was never meant to lead, after all.

They say history repeats itself, but only fools seek comfort in false promises.

_._

Memories are like flickering shadows cast by firelight. They come in and out of focus and there is no one she can ask who won’t flinch or look away. She sometimes sees faces, but has no names to attach to them. 

Those who knew her best surround her night and day, at first. They all try to comfort her, but don’t quite know how, needing just as much reassurance themselves. 

When her sister-in-law invites her for tea and snacks, she does not decline the gesture of goodwill. It is just the two of them and one of her friends. She is another Pegasus Knight like her Grace. She sits serenely, but seems somewhere else, far away. She loses the threads of conversation just as easily as Emmeryn used to after they first found her. 

_._

There are tales of other lands that have her believe it is the fate of a Pegasus Knight to eventually not return. The advance force is the first to spring a trap, the first to be shot down. It is something she did not question before, but as she watches the trainees grow she struggles with how to better prepare them. She was hardly more than a novice when her sisters fell. A wealth of knowledge and experience was snuffed out in protection of Ylisstol and again over the sands of Plegia. So, she returns to the old texts for guidance this time drawn to the castle library.

Emmeryn finds her there one day as she, too, has no one to ask for direction. She locates records of a stranger with her same name. Sometimes there are illuminated manuscripts decorated with gold leaf-bordered illustrations and the face is hers as well. There are other names and faces that repeat, her brother most often, especially in the most recent accounts. She sees Sir Frederick and on the rare occasion her sister. She is told Lissa never favored Court. There is another repeated face whose name is loving and reminds her of yearning and sweetness and many things her life now lacks. 

They research in silence, returning to the same thick wood table and the same seats on consecutive days. 

_._

She thinks of them as strange friends. Or kindred spirits. They have never talked beyond perfunctory greetings. Cordelia is formal in a way that makes her uncomfortable at first, as if she is being addressed as the woman from the manuscripts that everyone once knew her as. It is the kind of greeting she responds to with equal formality as that seems to put everyone at ease. After watching her interact in the castle and on the grounds with others, often at a distance, she realizes it is just her way. They see each other in passing one day and Emmeryn notices flowers in her arms. They are not the sort for a lover or a friend.

“Just a walk after monitoring training, your Grace,” Cordelia says when she inquires after her.

“May I accompany you?” she asks. Perhaps they can be more than quiet researchers together. 

Cordelia sways almost imperceptibly at the request, her expression remaining sedate.

“If you wish, your Grace.”

Emmeryn does not worry about time or distance as she follows her through corridors and outdoor paths to the chapel. They walk through a cemetery in silence before stopping at a grouping of similar markers. Names are engraved that she does not recognize until she sees one she that does. She kneels down on the earth as if in supplication, but for what she cannot say. With an unsteady hand she traces the letters. 

She starts when Cordelia kneels next to her, handing her several cut stems to leave on the plot. They both clean the site, Cordelia removing the dried husks of her last offering. 

This becomes ritual for her as well. After several visits, she begins to ask questions and is surprised when Cordelia answers honestly in her straightforward manner. She tells her things about people she surely knew, about others she possibly didn’t, and about events witnessed from the air on the back of a Pegasus.

It is different than reading the accounts, more real somehow. 

When she stops her one day to apologize, she cannot find the words to express what it means to her.

“I have nothing to give in return,” she confesses, “that could possibly match what you have done. I am no longer someone who should be referred to as ‘your Grace’. I am simply a stranger in my own house.”

For once, Cordelia allows her surprise to show.

“It is not something that requires thanks,” she states, the words sluggishly revealed as there are no ceremonial responses to the former Exalt’s assertion.

Nonetheless, there is a change. First the library, then the cemetery and finally their shared world expands to other places. They walk the gardens in the evenings, Emmeryn taking hold of her good arm one late afternoon when the lilac bushes are in bloom. 

It is winter when Cordelia visits Emmeryn’s quarters for the first time, having declined previous offers of company and tea. She observes a set of shelves on the far wall and notices that Emmeryn has all the old stories as well. Cordelia strokes a spine and is able to feel nostalgia with the barest hint of loss. When she turns to Emmeryn it melts away at her soft expression that suggests she understands.

One day several seasons later, Emmeryn asks Cordelia to accompany her outside of Ylisse and she accepts. Much like the old tales, a Pegasus Knight who yearned does not marry the prince and little is recorded of the once eldest princess after the wars, but they have reconciled with what was written and what is lived.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a combination of me trying to understand/appreciate Cordelia better and also playing with some (intentional…) parallels between games. Replaying Shadow Dragon now (but probably should’ve progressed further than like…. Chapter 7 or whatever to be able to draw more from that game since my memory is super fuzzy on a lot of details). First thing this week not in a crazy AU, too. Huh.


End file.
